


Demon's Waltz

by heroesinahalfshell91



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: F/M, Love, Murder, Service Submission, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroesinahalfshell91/pseuds/heroesinahalfshell91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a type of beauty and the beast tale, if you will. A tale of a man, and a monster, and a girl and an everlasting beauty. This is the tale of a man whose skin was pale and his eyes were odd, this is the tale of one Sweeney Todd...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon's Waltz

My name is Margaret, but no one calls me that; at best they call me Madge, at worst I dare not say. Ruefully I admit that I am a thing in more ways than one. I work as a maid for the Henderson family, like my mother before me. My father was once a college of Mr. Henderson but then his gambling got him into trouble before I was even born. Mr. Henderson must have been a good man in those years, for he certainly isn't one now. But he paid my father's dues and took the young couple on as indentured servants disgracing my once wealthy line.

Mother died giving birth to me, she never even got to see what I look like, and at times I think that was for the best. You see, I am a thing in respect to what I do for my superiors for they own me, the debt my father owed passing to my shoulders when at last the vile drunk gave up the ghost and died. I am also a thing with respect to what Mr. Henderson does to me at night. The Mrs. knows, I'm sure of it. I've cried out so many times in the dark, and so little attention does he pay her when he gets hot with drink how could she not? But standing here and looking at my marred face distorted in the misty gleam of the whistling kettle I know I am a thing in nature as well.

I am not pretty, nor will I ever feign that I am. The mere fact that I was not drowned upon my very birth is both a miracle and an act of omnipotent cruelty by God himself. I wish I had been drowned upon birth, or burned alive as the priests shout that I should be when they come upon me on the street. Perhaps if father had indeed bludgeoned me to death when I was a child as he seemed so intent upon doing I would know a semblance of peace, but as it is I was not, and do not.

For, and I tell you this as a friend, I am a haggard monster. Tis true. Father many a times in drunken stupor or hallowed sobriety of Sunday morn would spit in my, his very own child's face, and tell me that I had not been born of his seed. That I could not have been. He would scream it until God above could not even ignore his words of hate, scorn, and burden as he struck me. Instead, he would that my mother had lain with Satan and that I was his most unholy spawn.

I should tell you, I think, of my face now. The left of it is rather plain and homely, what you may expect to find in any maid's quarters of this, London town. The eye is green and the lips pink and soft. On the right however my flesh is red and harsh under the hand, the eye is set deep and twists as though trying to flee from its appointed place. The lips are drooped at the lower, yet drawn back overall as though snarling at the world which hates me. The arm too, on the right is greatly marred. It is a small, thin shriveled branch of a thing that will not move itself away from me. The claw like hand I may use for certain tasks, but only if I bring the thing to me and the work requires little strength.

Looking at myself now I believe in my father's words, that my mother, God rest her soul, had lay with the devil the night of my conception for how else had I come to be? Mr. Henderson, I wonder would do far better to find a more comely maid to spend his evenings with as appose to I. I suppose though, that he cares not for my appearance but only for that warm place in which he may stick it when his wife banishes him from their bed.

I will not lie, I dread those nights when his shadow is cast long across my bed. When he stumbles over the cold floor boards to my side and his breath is hot and rank with drink upon my neck. When his laugh is cruel and his arms far stronger than any fight I can make against him and the pain flares inside me, in that place meant for my husband alone yet he rips from me each night his lusts grow too strong for the rat to control.

But, and I beg you think not poorly of me for dear reader you are my only friend and confidant. I should think I would be very lost and afraid if ever I were to be without him. There has truly, not in all my life been a time when I was without him, not since my birth. He cares for me I think, for although my clothes may never be fine they are never thread bare, and though I must wait until the family has had their fill before I may indulge in what remains I never go hungry. His beatings even, sharp as they may be are over quickly, and the misdeed I had committed to deserve such a punishment swiftly and easily forgotten with the final blow. Even when his lusting gaze was first turned upon me at the age of nine he was ever so gentle in word and deed with the way he went about me, despite the pain he wracked through my body.

It is for this reason that I stay and have not fled this place, for the kindness outside of the cruelty, and for fear of the world. I have been chased by boys with stones, sticks and cruel hate filled words, and women with brooms and sharp tongued curses upon myself and the womb that bore me for fear that I would devour their children. A man once cut my face with a blade from his trouser pocket to see if the blood ran black, but Mr. Henderson ran him clear away from me, not that he has never struck me hard enough to cause me to bleed, yet he cared enough to chase away this stranger.

It is for my mistress that I hold no love. She is forever quick to anger with me, she strikes me, and spits on me and threatens to return me to Hell from which she assures me I came. Yet it is for she that the kettle whistles now in my ear as I peer at myself in its mirror surface. She is to have tea with other ladies of good breeding and well repute this afternoon and rests nude in the wash basin whose water for me is never warm and welcoming, but cold and frigid.

Taking a rag I lift the steaming vessel by the handle and dowse the flame. Making my way to my master's bedroom and rap the door lightly.

"Come in." she said as though I had disturbed her in a moment of prayer. She never used my name. So, head down as I knew I should behave and slowly entered. She was a truly lovely woman. Her hair a flowing black, eyes delicately blue, skin the color of milk and body deftly shaped into the resplendent curves of a goddess rather than a woman.

"Well?" she called angered, shattering the illusion, but still I envied her beauty. To wear her skin for a day. The dream of it made me smile, she didn't like that I know for her eyes threatened to tear me asunder. Carefully I poured the contents of the kettle into the tub.

"Ah!" she screeched. "You bitch of a whore!" mistress Henderson yelled as she turned on me, her hand crossing my face like a bolt of lightning with a resounding smack.

The unexpected blow knocked me to the ground, the scalding water scorching my thigh and side as it spilt upon the floor. I screamed in pain and sheer terror of how badly I could be hurt. Leaping up as quickly as my body was able I made ready to get clear of the water, but the wood was slick beneath me and my incompetent footing brought me back down again.

"You fool, clean it up!" the woman scolded me.

Rising more carefully this time I left to fetch a towel from the linen closet. My skin stung but I had no time to dwell on it as I wiped clean the floor. As I finished mistress who looked rather smug and pleased with herself had apparently made due with what luke warm water had remained in the basin, and now moved to sit upon her stool, wet hair waiting to be tended to. I envied her hair soft, sleek and raven feather black. My own wash water brown and easily tangled. Taking a brush in hand I began to slide it though her silky locks until they shone like obsidian.

She neither spoke to, nor looked to me as I rubbed rose water along her body that her odor might not offend. Her visage remaining just as stiff and unwavering as I dressed her in silks and laces, relishing the momentary softness against my hand.

I had learned quite early how to do such for my mistress so my deformity made no difference as to how I managed; only how suddenly she flinched away from my touch. Once dressed I made up her hair and her face until she seemed a porcelain doll come to life. It was then that my master came home. He entered the room and removing the powdered wig that signified him a lawyer and tossing it with disregard to the bed.

"Dearest!" he smiled to his wife arms wide open as though he would embrace her. Instead he held the strong appendages well around her and kissed the air so as not smear the ruby lips or mar the lead power.

"You look beautiful, are you off to tea then?" he inquired.

"Yes," she said softly, her face falling, eyes widen and sullen. "Boiled and blistered however." she added in a low wilting tone. "Courtesy of the devil bride!"

Her hand flew out in my direction, my eyes fluttered like a butterfly's wings caught in a shutter, with fear, the right far more slowly. She then sobbed loudly as though the movement had caused her great pain.

"Do not fret my darling, go enjoy yourself, you work so hard maintaining this house. You deserve this my love." he said with such conviction that I found my soul yearning to believe the flattering lies directed to his spouse. She smiled and beat her eyes seductively.

"Tonight my sweet." He promised kissing her hand for a long and passionate moment. Her eyes wrinkled in smile, crow's feet cutting deeply, and still it did nothing to take from her loveliness.

I followed, the obedient lap dog as he escorted her to the carriage. "Relax dear, I love you." Mr. Henderson called as she rode out of sight, and then he turned to me.

Dear friend, forgive me if I do not tell you all that occurred then. Instead I will tell you of what I preoccupied my mind with as he did what he would.

You see, the fine paper with which the walls of the drawing room are decorated has the most intriguing of patterns. Diamonds and circles intertwined with one another in elegant and beguiling ways until the eye is deceived into a dizziness that boggles the mind. The room shimmered and wavered as tears rained down from my eyes, but never mind the painful heat moving terribly about within.

The primary color if the paper was of a soft cream that reminded one of the innocently hued skin of a babe, new to the world and untouched by the dirt it held. The shapes themselves were a deep red, like blood lined with a shimmering wealth of gold. Forget, his lascivious words of praise and threat, the hand tight about my throat as I began to cry as beg for respite.

These diamond, circle chains are broke up by solid bands, also red, though rather than being outlined with gold, they held a quills line width of the leaf. I think I would have loved it, if not for the cruelty it's pattern always brings to mind, and the revelation of that which sickeningly filled me and I fretfully feared would soon cause me to swell with child.

This paper was, however, nothing like that of their bedroom, with its purples and blacks, though by divine providence, by this time I had need not to ponder the works and appearance of either for he risen up off my body, and left me there to tend to myself.

I tell you, friend, I lie there and wept for the pain as well as the cruel gentleness with which he had gone about the act, kissing, and caressing as if I were a lover before his anger grew to smite me.

I washed myself with a cloth before dressing gingerly, despite his later soft handling of my form, I had fought, as ever I did despite the fact that I knew better, and was bruised for my efforts.

Afterwards he came to me, his hand light on my shoulder. "You need to go to market and fetch some things for this evening's dinner." he said in a manner that a father would, as though nothing had just happened. I nodded, unable to look at him. "When you are finished you may meet me at the barber's. I have an appointment with one Sweeney Todd." he said caressing the stubble on his chin that my neck had borne not long ago, I cringed. "It is on Fleet Street, do you hear me girl?" he asked.

"Yes." I said as he placed a few shinning coins into my palm. He looked at me, I do not know why; perhaps he felt remorse for what he had done. I admit, that is what I affirmed to myself, as it comforted me to do so, and for the fear that it was with a darker purpose that his gaze held me.

He nodded sharply before seeing me to the door, it was there we parted ways and the noose that was the world gripped tight my throat. As I have said before that I fear, more than anything, even more than Mr. Henderson what lie just beyond his door.

It is true. Damn me to hell if you like, you would not be the first, but I should have liked to study that wretched wall paper for all my life rather than to step outside, for while Mr. Henderson was a monster, outside waited the demons.


End file.
